


Star Light, Star Bright

by Mrs_Apples



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 07:54:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17240408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mrs_Apples/pseuds/Mrs_Apples
Summary: The final days of Stargate Atlantis base. The Wraith are overrunning the base and they are preparing to retreat to Earth. Ronon-centric but all the main crew have a part.WARNING: Implied character death, not at all gruesome. Apart from that, it's really very tame.This was created for the Fourth Annual Kink/Cliche Multi-Fandom Challenge! (2008. omg, can it really be 10 years). My prompt was Body-painting or ink brushing on someone's skin. Ronan is a total dream for body painting!





	Star Light, Star Bright

Atlantis Base - Evacuation minus 3 days 

 

The whine of Wraith cruisers filled the air, punctuated by staccato blasts pounding against their defences and the churning roar of sections of the city crashing into the sea. Elizabeth looked each of her command team in the eyes, her lips tight, and declared the city lost. 

The moment stretched on until Teyla, ever practical, requested that those few of her people they’d managed to save be allowed passage to Earth.

Ronon asked Elizabeth how long the evacuation would take.

"Three days,” she said. They could hold the defences for three days. 

 

**

Carson barely noticed when Ronon appeared in his office amid the boxes, checkboards and bins of stores to be abandoned. 

"Got any hewell berry, Doc?”

“Pardon?" Carson forced his attention away from the rushed packing to focus on Ronon. "Did you say hewell berries?" 

“Need it for battle markings,” Ronon said, touching the tattoos etched into his neck. 

“Over there," Beckett waved his checkboard towards some half-emptied shelves. "We’re not taking any with us.” He examined Ronon’s markings, noticing not only the colour but how it was raised, scarified into the skin. “How do they do that?” 

“An elder scores it into your skin with a bone needle," Ronon replied matter-of-factly, big hands rifling through box after box. 

“That must be excruciating.” 

Ronon met Carson's gaze steadily. “Marks of honour have to be earned.” Finding what he was looking for, Ronon ambled towards the door. “Thanks Doc.” 

“Ronon? You are coming with us, lad?” 

Ronon shrugged and disappeared down the corridor. 

Carson touched his communicator. “Elizabeth, I think we have a problem.” 

 

** 

“Ronon, a word please.” Elizabeth deftly stepped into his path as he moved to go around her. 

“Busy.” He adjusted his trajectory further but she caught him again. 

“You’re not coming with us, are you?” she asked, tilting her head. 

“Nope.” 

She almost couldn't believe Carson was right. Almost. Frowning, her brow tight, she could see from Ronon's stance that he thought she was about to object. 

“Is there any way we can assist you?”

His eyebrows peaked in surprise. “Nope.” 

He started to move off but she stilled him again, hand up to ward off his objection. 

“Ronon. You must let them know. That’s the only thing I’m going to tell you to do.” 

He walked away. 

 

**

Final Evacuation of Atlantis Base 

It's four in the morning and they have about a dozen rooms still under their control. The whine of the Wraith ships is their constant companion now and the Wraith are taunting them through the doors anticipating the moment they break through and can sate their hunger. 

Remnants of staff and belongings and stores are still filing through the perpetual shimmer of the gate and Rodney feels like he must be burnt from the constant glare. It feels like he's been lying under the console for the entire three days, wiring in hand, fixing it to blow. 

Ronon strides into the gateroom and sits right at the base of the ramp, an odd assortment of belongings in hands. Rodney welcomes the opportunity to be up on his feet, waving his arms at Ronon as he unleashes a tirade about the inconvenience Ronon has specifically inflicted on his person. 

When Ronon doesn't answer, Rodney hovers, looking at him questioningly.

“Busy,” Ronon grunts and waves Rodney away, like he would an irritating gnat. 

“Do you have to be busy right there? I get to be busy where there's technology, you get to be busy where there's guns and sweating and ammunition. It's not as if you're blowing anything up, or...” Rodney assesses the assortment in Ronon's hands more closely - berries, a lump of clay, the strange bottle. “You’re not trying to blow anything up are you?” 

“Saying goodbye.” 

“Oh well, I s’pose that’s understandable, your galaxy and all. Can’t imagine leaving where I grew up, well, you know, actually I did, but I know it’s still there if you know what I mean.” 

Ronon thrusts his knife an inch into the flooring. Rodney clicks his fingers and rushes back to the safety of the console muttering something about wires and cables and genius and wouldn't it be nice if brute force worked for everyone. 

 

**

John saunters in an hour later. He's calm now that his work there is almost done, he can savour the last few moments in his city after the frantic head-long rush to get all their people out. Nodding to Rodney, he leans against the railing and considers the spread Ronon has created - a central bowl with another item at each quarter, like a compass. 

As Teyla crosses the deck to talk finalities with Elizabeth, she pauses to assess Ronon's layout, then inclines her head in acknowledgement to Ronon, John and Rodney. The last few days have been so busy, each with their own tasks, they've barely laid eyes on each other. 

John looks to her, enquiring. She smiles, gesturing at Ronon. "I believe your people would call this ritual 'the calm before the storm'." They regard Ronon a moment longer before dispersing to ready themselves for departure. 

 

** 

Ronon begins. 

Each item is laid out very precisely, each having meaning and its own place: bowl, ochre, hewell berries, a bottle of strong Athosian liquor. 

He takes the earth into his hands, crumbling it, feeling the red ochre fragments fall in clumps through his fingers as they tumble into the bowl. Again. He rolls the clay between his palms - working it, kneading it, sweating with it until the grains are ground into his skin, staining his hands as oils from his skin begin to tinge the powder. It is in him and he is in it. 

Next, he adds the hewell berries, one by one he plucks them from the bunch, grinding them with the hilt of his knife. Their aroma is pungent in his nostrils as the ruby juice oozes from them to mix with the powdered earth and create a thick paste. 

 

** 

Elizabeth, sadness etched across her face, stands at the railing, watching. The last few soldiers make the leap through the gate, shuffling awkwardly around Ronon, although he seems completely oblivious. 

Rodney joins Elizabeth at the railing. He appears mesmerised as Ronon sweeps up the bottle of Athosian liquor, big warrior's hands moving with surprising precision and deliberation. Rodney tells Elizabeth he's never seen Ronon so intent. 

 

** 

Ronon pours a small amount of the Athosian liquor over the combined berries and earth and mixes with his fingers to make a gruel, feeling for the right texture. He adds a dash more until it feels smooth and free and silky. 

Closing his eyes he begins to paint the markings; battle signs first, drawn in sigil and memory and memorial across his skin. He echoes the marks on his neck and the scars on his back, adding new markings for every Wraith he has fought up to this moment. He is his own elder now and it feels different to be marking himself, to be marking out his own history on his warm skin.

 

** 

John finishes his final sweep and joins Elizabeth and Rodney at the railing. There's nothing left but to gather his team once and for all. They wait on Teyla to join them and John says he'll wait for Ronon too, wait until he's finished what he's doing before John leads them out, their last trip out of the Atlantis gateroom. Elizabeth looks at him wide-eyed and Rodney leans his chin on her shoulder trying not to choke up at all they are leaving behind, at the failure they are taking with them, in their hearts. 

 

** 

Ronon finishes his battle markings and moves on to the final markings, the directions to his gods and his ancestors. He draws a thick, dark line across his ribs, directly under his pectoral muscles that spans from armpit to armpit. 

Then he draws another across his hips parallel to the one above. The lines define his universe; between them he plots out, one by one, the stars above his birth world. 

He draws the map for his spirit to find its way home. 

 

** 

John barely hears Teyla approach. He is watching, transfixed, as Ronon lifts his knife and thrusts it, twisting, into the flooring, shattering the blade into brilliant deadly shards. 

Teyla gasps, the only unbidden sound John has ever heard her make and it scares him more than he'd admit. He turns to see her skidding to a halt. Staring in horror at Ronon she stammers, "I ....it's not what I...." she backs away. 

John catches her elbow, "Teyla?"

Rodney's face is filled with alarm as his eyes flit from Ronon to Teyla. 

“It’s a burial rite. Ronon’s performing a Satedan burial rite. On himself.” 

“What? Don’t be ridiculous, he’s not....” Rodney argues on autopilot before his brain catches up, his mouth forming an ‘O’. 

John turns, scrubs his hand through his hair, turns back to Teyla. “I’ll order him through the gate, I can, we can drug him,” his forehead creases before he adds, “it’d take more than us to restrain him.” 

John trails off as Teyla, having mastered herself once more, places a sure hand on his arm. "He has given Atlantis everything he has, Colonel. Do not ask less of him.” 

They turn back to Ronon to see him rake the remaining paint down across his face from dreads to beard, dark and hollow under his eyes. Elizabeth casts a less-than-impressed look at Ronon before turning to the others. 

"Ronon will trigger the gate destruct mechanism after we're through. He will also begin the self-destruct countdown for the remainder of Atlantis." She heads down the stairs to Ronon. 

He slowly rises to his feet and Elizabeth embraces him. 

Teyla moves purposefully down the stairs. John and Rodney follow as if in a daze. 

 

** 

"Well I guess this is it, you won't be persuaded I suppose, just what do you think you're going to do? You're really not coming with us?" Rodney's mouth precedes his body as always. 

"Yes. No. Kill them. Yes." Ronon smirks at Rodney and rolls his shoulders, stretching out the stiffness of the focused sitting. He feels good now, aware, awake, alive. 

Rodney does his best pissy pout for a nanosecond before surging forward and hugging Ronon, large hands firm against his back, cheek to his chest. He steps back abruptly. Really looks at Ronon properly before offering his hand, shaking Ronon's two handedly, "Thank you, I, just, thank you." 

 

Teyla steps forward, arms to Ronon's arms, leaning up to touch her forehead to his. "Goodbye my friend. It has been an honour knowing you." She offers a small smile when he leans down and presses the softest of kisses to her cheek. "Send word if you can." 

 

"Hey Buddy." 

"Sheppard." 

"There's nothing I can say to convince you to come with us?" 

"Nope." 

 

Elizabeth cuts in, "Gentlemen. Teyla. It's time to go." 

 

The four of them form up at the top of the ramp, back lit by the ripples of the gate they see it's shimmer reflected across the gateroom and command centre for one last time. Ronon the lone figure remaining. 

John pauses, spine straight and shoulders back. He raises his hand in salute. "Ronon Dex, you will not be forgotten." 

"Nor you, Sheppard." 

Ronon takes off at a bound out of the gateroom. Elizabeth, John, Rodney and Teyla step through the gate. 

 

*** 

 

For two days Teyla stands before the Stargate. Every so often she asks, in her deliberate manner, for Sergeant Harriman to check whether a link can still be established to Atlantis base. On the third day, the Stargate erupts into activity. 

“Unscheduled offworld activation. It’s Ronon’s IDC.” Harriman confirms. 

Rapid calls are made to lower the iris as all hands leap into activity. Suddenly the gate shudders, the link broken, blue shimmering dissipating to nothingness. Silence envelopes the Gateroom. 

Into the silence Teyla offers up the clear voiced liturgy her people sing in memorium. Melody flying free and unfettered, a shining tear sliding down her cheek.


End file.
